


Working Through

by pirategirljack



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirategirljack/pseuds/pirategirljack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod has some stuff to figure out after the end of S2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Through

Ichabod Crane was completely, impossibly, entirely in love with Abbie Mills, and it was the last thing he wanted. He could still feel his wife's blood on his hands, could still remember the way the knife had sliced into her--by his choice. A choice he had to live with and still had not found even a shred of peace over.

What he most wanted was to take this to Abbie, to ask her advice and hope she might know what to do. If he was the be entirely honest, which was less and less appealing as each day passed, what he really wanted to do was to crawl into her lap and cry like a child, but that would be inappropriate for a number of reasons.

Still, he felt he was on unstable ground more than he had at any time since he first came here to this time. His Leftenant was always his tether, his anchor. She always knew what to say, how to make sense of the world, but this was his battle to win. He couldn't make it hers--not when he must put his turmoil to rest before he could even begin to be what she needed him to be.

"Crane? Are you alright? We can do this later if--"

"I am quite alright, Leftenant."

"But you aren't really, are you?"

"No. Not even remotely, I am afraid."

Abbie took a moment before answering, but her eyes were deep and full of compassion and he could hardly look at her. He didn't deserve to be looked at like that.  
"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not--as of yet."

She laid her hand on his arm, her small fingers reaching as far around his forearm as they could. All he wanted was to sink into that implied embrace. All he wanted was to drag himself as far away from it as possible. He did neither, just stood rigidly still, and wrestled with himself.

"You know I'm here for you if you need me, right?"

"Of course. You have always "had my back", Leftenant."

"And I always will."

It was like his hand grew a mind of it's own, and despite his attempts to stop it, it shifted, and took her hand, and squeezed her fingers. It very nearly drew her hand up to his lips for a gallant gesture, and he had to master himself fiercely to avoid it.

"I do not deserve such loyalty," he said, low and lost, before he knew he was going to say it. "I hardly know my own mind anymore."

"Crane, is that what this is about? You think you don't deserve--anything?"

Now he did pull his hand away, pulled his whole self away from her to pace around, half to burn the wildly uncomfortable energy burning through him, and half to avoid having to look at her.

"I know I do not."

"Crane..."

"Leftenant, you cannot deny that I am the cause of my wife's death. I am her murderer."

"Crane--"

"Nor can you deny that my naive and irrational belief in her every claim caused us more trouble than perhaps any other cause."

"Well--"

"Nor can you claim that--"

"Crane!" Her voice was a whip crack, and she was suddenly inside his personal space, her little hands surprisingly strong on his arms, stopping him. "None of that means you don't deserve loyalty!"

"When have I ever earned it?"

"When you broke into Purgatory, risking the whole world, to save me! When you believed me in the past even though you never met me because time had been messed up! When you killed your wife to save me!"

"She wasn't my wife anymore!"

"No," Abbie said, and she said I with such sadness, that it broke him, "she wasn't. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Crane. But none of her choices were your fault."

"But my choices were."

"And I don't hold any of them against you." She reached up to him, and when he reared back, away from her, she paused, but didn't stop. She just reached further. And she carefully, so carefully, put her hand on his cheek. When he couldn't bring himself to back up again, she brought her other hand up, and she held his face like he was precious and worthy, and he almost believed her. "It's okay, Ichabod. We'll be okay."

He didn't believe her. But he couldn't hold himself against the ocean of grief anymore. 

He collapsed--and Abbie caught him. She was so small, but strong enough to keep him from shattering, and he cried into her shoulder with his arms locked around her like she was the only thing saving him. And perhaps she was.

She was definitely what kept him sane tonight. She cried with him, and when they were both done, her hands were back on his cheeks, and she searched his eyes to see how he was. He managed to chuckle, just a bit. "I am as well as can be, Leftenant."

And his traitorous hand again bucked his intentions, and this time it went up to her cheek, drying her tears...and lingering there.

And tracing the curve of her jaw.

And brushing the edge of her lip.

She moved first, closing the space between them in fits and starts, giving him more than enough time to pull away. He didn't. He closed the last sliver of space between them himself.

It was not what he intended. But it was exactly what they both needed, and as their first kiss deepened, he promised himself--and her--that he would never be so blind as he had been again. 

And then he picked up his tiny Leftenant and carried her to his bed, like a modern man might.

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up with this in my head.
> 
> \---  
> My mailing list is here: http://eepurl.com/bjHU3T


End file.
